The Deranged Thoughts Of A Girl

I have lived and breathed through my art, I have loved people in silence yet so loud with my art, I found the strength to forgive people through my art and I am learning to love myself through my art. The repressed emotions I had within myself found an outlet and I came to realise that it was normal. That it was normal to accept feelings I had been trying to hide for so long. I still wonder where I would be if I kept on believing that parts of me I disliked could never learn to love by itself. The distinction to call art good or bad feels like a limit, a limit to control the way we humans are capable of expressing ourselves. We are all in this together. Together in an effort to be understood.We all have our art. Art never has to be something that can be witnessed by others. It can be anything. It could be a feeling inside you, the crumpled paper in your room that has your words, strokes or melody, or simply your existence. It could be the way you hold someone, the way you help others t

What's so great about palindromes?  The idea of a word sounding the same when you write it backwards, meaning the same when most of the others don't. Why are we so intrigued by this? Does it make you believe in something bigger? Maybe it's because we are always surrounded by words that lose its value when you turn it back. Maybe it's because it does feel nice to believe that even when you reach the end nothing is ever going to change. In a world full of uncertainties, some of us have always found comfort in words and some days I feel the words need us too to live.  A friend I made used to send me the poems he wrote. I don't know much about him but I know how he feels, how everyday makes him feel, how much he loves his close ones and how much he was hurting. He'd send me poems he wrote for his muse and I have kept them on a pedestal in my mind so that I can always remember this is how it must feel to be loved. His poems felt like a palindrome, one that could neve

I hesitated to write about it because I had to think about the generations of family that I would be bringing disgrace on. Then I realised even the disgrace wouldn't help me to forget incidents stuck at the back of my mind telling me 'If only you knew'. At sixteen, when the classes were filled with jokes about contraceptive methods, I laughed along. The one sentence that explained sex in the biology text felt stupid, something that you could skip because it wouldn't come for the exams and for once you were right. But do we all realise the damage we are a part of?  You tell us off as a generation  That doesn't love the right way, A generation that fucks  And not one that makes love. A generation that always  Fall prey to fits of passion. But you tell us off for   The wrong reasons. We are doomed because we are still the generation  that gets sex education Weeks before tying the knot. Still the generation that  Holds the trauma of abuse  Without a soul to rely on. Sti

 Every poem feels like a daydream For a poet who mourned the  Death of her words that couldn't Be brought to life by merely  Writing it down. I fall into a haze never really Knowing how I began but as soon As I write the last word I are aware  Of my breaths and my words feel New to me. I always read my poems over and  Over to find errors but never once have I read it to understand what I  Felt when I used my words to Tell the world a story. I love my poems through the ones That read it and make it their own, Because on days when my paper stays blank I go back to them to remind me Of the days when I used to feel a thing or two.

 My world would have been  One that was devoid of hope If it weren't for all those Moments you stood strong For the both of us. It does crumble now and then When the nights stain the days With a sad darkness and the words that should never Have been used together find Their way over to me to Remind me that the universe  Was corrupted to give me hope. But I find you in the corners Telling me that even when my  World stands still you would Go around and bring your  World to mine, we find hope For each other but are selfless  To keep it within ourselves and Somedays I know that is what Saves me so I write you  Thank you notes when I cry For letting me believe that This instance of agony  Would pass as long as I  Have some hope to  Keep you close.

 Hearts all around rejoice  When monsoon comes. I find excuses to meet the rain And papa thanks the clouds For making the time stand still While he watches his little girl Swirling and laughing  Having the time of her life. Hearts all around lament When monsoon comes. Miles apart, I still try to  Make your favourite snack Whenever the skies announce their arrival, the rain embraces My yearning like it knew how Much a wet heart could hurt. The rain whispers secrets of  The inevitable changes but it still came with the bundles Of promises our past made, So that when the rains visit again, Our hearts will grow happier  and stronger.

 We were all going back home With hastened goodbyes, soft hugs, Tons of 'I miss you's, 'keep in touch's  And masks that helped hide tears. We came back to our castle of good Memories with zillions of plans to  Build them up more with warmth and love Only to gaze at the incomplete work  And say what a tragedy! We will learn to live with the despair This abrupt farewell brings us but right here Being alive in this moment, I feel like it'll Stay with me forever and more. Every corner of this place that breathed Anonymity before feels so homely That while looking through photographs  of streets that you and I walked together I am having a sad reunion with our memories.